Human
by Dawnstorm101
Summary: A series of one-shots, starting with Milt getting shot at the end of Sympathy for the Devil (1x13) and covering the recovery afterwards. Rated T for mentions of darker themes (warnings detailed inside).
1. Wounds

Russ bent over in relief as the gun went down. He blinked, and a gunshot exploded through the air.

" _No!"_ Russ screamed when Milt collapsed. "Milt. Milt! _Milt!"_ He dropped to his knees and pressed his hand down on the bleeding bullet hole. "Get an ambulance now," he yelled over his shoulder at Font. He turned back to look at Milt, to make the younger man meet his gaze. "Hey, hey, you're gonna be ok," Russ murmured.

Milt was silent for a moment before he focused his gaze on Russ. "I know," he whispered. And then it was laugh or cry. So… they laughed. Like drunk idiots, they laughed. Until the pain grew to be too much and Milt was groaning instead of laughing.

"Hang on," Russ urged, patting the side of Milt's face. "Font, where the hell is that ambulance?"

Milt nodded and shifted a bit. "Are y… you ok?"

Russ stared. "What?"

"He kicked you… pretty hard."

 _"No! Stop it!" Milt begged. Russ barely heard it over his own agony, but he heard enough to know._

Russ chuckled disbelievingly. "You have a _gunshot wound_ in your shoulder, and you're asking about a few _bruises?"_

Milt opened his mouth, but ended up only doing a one-armed shrug. "Seriously, though."

Russ shook his head. "I'm better off than you are."

Milt lifted his head at the sound of sirens. "Still," he pressed, "you should get checked out, too."

"Hey, I've got a girlfriend," Russ protested. Milt's laugh turned into a groan, and his hand feebly grabbed Russ's wrist. Russ lifted one of his hands to grip him in response for a moment.

"I'm just gonna squeeze in for a second," Font muttered. Both partners cleared their throats and let go of each other. Font quickly freed Russ from his handcuffs and backed away, returning to the father of the boy Milt had inadvertently gotten killed and had been trying to make up for ever since.

Plants crunched underneath tires as the ambulance rolled up, the lights still flashing but the siren silenced. An EMT slipped out before the ambulance had come to a full stop and jogged over. Milt flinched at his sudden appearance, reaching for Russ again. Russ eased back, letting the EMT give Milt's wound proper care, letting Milt hold his wrist, reassuring himself that Milt was conscious and healthy enough to do so.

As they were preparing to lift him onto the stretcher, the second EMT, a woman, glanced at the contact. "We've gotta take him."

Russ nodded. Not taking his eyes from Milt's, he carefully extricated his wrist, promising, "I'll be at the hospital when you wake up, ok?"

"Ok," Milt whispered. The vulnerability in his gaze tugged at Russ's heart.

-BC-

Hospital chairs sucked. They were too short, too thin, wobbly, the cushions didn't cushion, and they were placed as far away from the patient's bedside as possible. Maybe the cushion part was just because no position he found could ease the pain in his cracked rib. And maybe he didn't feel close enough because the concussion and sun were screwing with his sight, but still: Hospital chairs sucked.

Grabbing his chair, Russ dragged it around Milt's bed so he wasn't staring straight into the sun, and dropped down into it again, his rib instantly punishing him for it. He forcibly kept his hand from rubbing his head. He distracted himself from the itch of the stitches by glancing at Milt's vitals.

They were strong and steady. Russ didn't know why he was worrying. His partner lay on the hospital bed, still sound asleep on account of the pain meds – but not unconscious because of his injuries. His arm rested in a bright blue sling, bandages peeking out from underneath his hospital gown. The blood had been cleaned off his face, which was only a couple shades too pale. For the most part, he could have just been taking a nap.

And yet, Russ worried. Despite the urgings of his coworkers and nurses, his legs refused to take him from the room. His eyes continuously strayed to the vitals, or to make sure Milt's chest still rose and fell. When Milt shifted unconsciously, some instinct drove his hand to smooth the new wrinkles in his sheets or sling.

A gentle hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts. "Hey, Russ."

He leaned against the newcomer. "Hi, Holly."

"I brought you some water," she murmured, handing him a cup. He took it gratefully, though he felt like a little kid again as he sipped it through a straw. She went to drag over her own chair, picking up his free hand and rubbing it.

"Are you here to tell me I should leave?" Russ muttered, his tone coming out harsher than he had intended.

She took it in stride. "No. I mean, I know you need rest of your own, but I also know you won't get it unless you're here, because underneath your prickly shell, I know you care."

Russ tilted his head at her. She laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Hey, if I didn't know that, I wouldn't be your girlfriend, would I?"

"Shouldn't you be on a plane right now?" Russ asked, suddenly remembering she had to go to school again.

"I don't have to leave for another hour, and I wanted to see the two of you first." She reached up to finger comb his hair. Russ sighed and let her coddle him as they waited for the sleeping FBI agent to wake. He slid into a light doze, despite his anxiety over his partner.

"Russ…" a faint voice mumbled.

He snapped upright. "Milt?"

Pale brown eyes blinked blearily at him. "I see you… got checked out."

Holly laughed, a sweet, musical sound to Russ's ears. "Everyone was right, Russ: You didn't need to worry."

Drugs still slurred Milt's voice a bit. "You worried 'bout me?"

"Of course not," Russ spluttered.

Milt smirked, and Holly laughed adoringly. She lightly kissed Russ on the head, then stood to pat Milt on his uninjured shoulder. "I'll see you later, boys. Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

"How can we? You're taking all the stupid with you," Milt joked.

"Ok, you are _not_ drugged enough to believe even for a moment that Holly is stupid."

"But I'm drugged enough to pretend I'm drugged enough to believe it for a moment," Milt retorted.

Holly shook her head. "At least try to stay out of trouble."

"I think we all know that's not an option," Russ pointed out.

Holly groaned and left, calling "Goodbye" over her shoulder. Russ crossed his arms and glared at his partner.

"You drove my girlfriend away."

"Um, I think you did," Milt protested.

"I'm going to blame you anyway."

Milt rolled his eyes a bit. "How long have you been here?"

Russ shrugged. "Since yesterday, I guess. But I _definitely_ have not been in your room the whole time."

Milt opened his mouth, but let it go. "So is there something besides your adorable worry keeping you here?"

Russ shot another glance at his vitals. "It's probably nothing, but the doctors… They said, after the surgery, that your shoulder area showed signs of excessive strain."

Milt turned his head away, swallowing uncomfortably. "It's no-"

"Milt."

The young man took a deep breath. "You know how I said I was out for a jog the morning my car got blown up?"

"What does jogging have to do with your shoulder?"

"I exercise. A lot. You could probably say I do it excessively. Jogging, push-ups, pull-ups, curl-ups, you name it, I do it. It's, uh, it's how I prepare to act so… everyone says perfectly."

"Wait. You do _that_ to keep yourself so happy?"

Milt ran his free hand through his hair. "Not really happy, if you look in my desk drawer. I just… It hasn't been easy since I got those teens killed."

"Milt, you were doing your job."

"They were _kids."_

"Kids or not, you can't just push yourself to the breaking point out of guilt over something that happened years ago. It won't make it disappear."

Milt deflated. "Maybe not, but…"

"But nothing. There are healthier ways to release your anger."

"Which you would know so much about?"

"Holly's teaching me."

Milt finally looked at him again. "Do you realize how weird this is?"

Russ leaned back in his chair. "This is Battle Creek, man. Nothing makes sense."

Milt chuckled, then eased off in a faint groan. "Ow."

Russ reached over and hit the call button. "You need more pain meds."

"I'm fine," Milt mumbled. Russ stared at him pointedly when he noticeably froze to spare his shoulder from movement. "Ok, maybe not."

Russ sat in silence as a nurse came in, flirted with Milt a bit, gave him his pain meds, and left. Milt's end of the conversation was barely half-intelligible after that (Russ tapped the record button on his phone for leverage later on), and he was asleep an hour later. The nurse came back to inform him visiting hours were over, so Russ stood to leave. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Milt's vulnerable sleeping form. And realized why he had worried.

Just like everyone else, he had fallen. Fallen into the trap that was FBI Special Agent Milton Chamberlain. But not because he was this perfect angel that everyone thought he was. His walls of cynicism had fallen for a man who was so perfectly imperfect. Not an angel, but a human.

"See you tomorrow, partner," he told his sleeping friend.


	2. Desk Drawer

A/N: So this was just supposed to be a one-shot, but a guest reviewer suggested I write something about how the others handle Milt's suicidal move, so I wrote this, and I decided to just make a series of one-shots detailing the recovery. I don't know if I'll keep them in chronological order, but if they aren't I'll make a note of it. It'll stay marked as complete because I'll only be writing these when the inspiration hits; summaries will be at the beginning of each one-shot.

Summary: Russ takes a look in Milt's desk drawer and demands answers. (Warning for mentions of self-harm.)

* * *

 _"Not really happy, if you look in my desk drawer."_

Russ walked into the precinct, holding his torso rigid to avoid exacerbating his cracked rib. In his hand, he held a crumpled paper bag. He glanced around, hoping he had come too early for anyone to be there; he didn't know exactly what he would find, but Milt wanted it kept secret, and Russ wasn't in the mood to be the one to reveal it. Milt, fast asleep in his hospital bed, didn't even know he was here.

He paused outside the door to Milt's fancy office to glance around one more time. Then he opened it just wide enough for him to slip inside. He eased the door shut behind him and made his way to the massive (by Battle Creek standards, at least) desk. He sank stiffly into the chair.

 _If I were FBI Special Agent Milton Chamberlain and I wanted to hide something, which drawer would I stuff it in?_

Not a bottom drawer; leaning down would draw attention if anyone looked through the windows. And if he had used his right hand, it would be easier for people to assume he was putting away something interesting or important, because why trust your non-dominant hand with something like that? So Russ pulled open the top left drawer.

 _What the hell?_

Phone fragments? Russ picked up a motherboard, noticing the chips and jagged edges. Picking up other fragments revealed drops of dried blood on some – never more than a few, but it still meant Milt was hurting himself, however slightly, however accidentally. But this time, he'd taken a bullet. He'd nearly killed himself.

 _He_ wanted _to die._

Hurriedly, Russ scraped everything into the bag. Moving as fast as he dared, he exited the office and strode towards the exit – he needed to talk to his partner.

"Russ! Fancy meeting you here," Niblet exclaimed.

 _Great._

He turned around. "Hey, Niblet."

"What are you doing here?"

He blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Uh, just getting something from Milt's office."

"What would that something be?"

Russ tucked the bag behind his back. "Nothing you need to be concerned about. I need to get back to the hospital now…"

Niblet blinked. "Oh. Ok, then. Bye." Then, "Wait, how's Milt?"

"As fine as he can be," Russ replied smoothly.

Before Niblet could press for further answers, Russ rushed from the precinct. He shoved the bag into his car's glovebox before driving to the hospital. He sat in the parking lot for a moment, taking deep breaths, Holly's voice in his head slowly instructing him to inhale and exhale. Once he had control of the urge to shoot Milt for doing this to himself, he got out and went to his hospital room.

The sight of his partner gave him pause. Milt slept, his expression a mask of pain. Once, Russ would have attributed this to the bullet hole in his shoulder. Now, though, Milt's tiny, shaking voice as he poured out everything in preparation to die wove through his mind. An image of bloody phone parts flashed in front of him, and the urgency came flooding back. Mentally shaking himself, he grabbed a chair.

"Milt."

Milt's eyelids fluttered. "What?" he mumbled.

"Wakey wakey, sunshine."

Sluggishly, Milt lifted his free arm and rubbed his eyes. "Aren't you supposed to let the injured man sleep?"

"Well, I was going to let myself sleep, but then I decided to check in your desk drawer."

The words acted like a bucket of ice water. Milt jerked awake, his back lifting a few inches off the bed before he stopped with a groan. He sank back down, stammering, "I-I have no idea-"

"Milt, stop trying to hide," Russ snapped. The younger man flinched away from his harsh tone, and Russ made a conscious effort to control it.

"Look, Milt, I know now. Your exercising, your apparent self-loathing and suicidal tendencies, your anger… And something's gotta change. This probably isn't the smartest thing, but no one else has to know. But – and I know how backwards this is about to sound – you _have to trust me."_

Milt stared at him, his eyes gleaming with a silent plea. His legs bent and his free arm wrapped around his torso like he wanted to curl up in a ball. Russ didn't let his gaze waver as he forced himself to patiently wait for Milt to start talking on his own. Milt finally lowered his gaze to the bed, suddenly finding the plain white sheet very interesting.

"I'm thirsty," he mumbled.

"Milt-"

"Please."

Russ sighed, admitting that he heard a slight rasp in Milt's voice. "I'll be right back," he conceded, standing up to fetch the requested drink. It only took a minute, but when he returned, Milt had relaxed slightly. He still found the sheet intriguing, but was stronger, somehow.

"Thanks," Milt murmured, taking a few sips. As he did that, his gaze grew distant.

"I never mean to cut myself when… when I'm destroying phones. I just… I just get so angry when something goes wrong, ever since… you know. And it's easy enough to pretend nothing happened and hide it, because who notices when I replace it with an identical one? No one." Milt's voice gradually dipped until Russ had to lean in to hear. "It kind of adds to the feeling of being utterly alone since…"

"Wait, why-"

"Because she left me. I told you once that I have been in love, and it was her. My partner and I… We were dating for a couple years, but the shooting destroyed us. She wanted to pull the kid out from the beginning, but I convinced her not to. She didn't talk to me for a couple days after we watched him get shot, and when she did… She called it off. She transferred the next week, and after that, no one ever saw… I guess it's the real me. The only see Milt Perfect Everything," he finished in the bitterest voice Russ had never expected to hear come out of Milt.

Russ floundered for something to say. "Um, family?"

Milt started yanking at a stray thread on his sheet. "My sister is one of the busiest people I've ever met and my mom… It's complicated."

Russ pulled the thread from Milt's fingers. "I know complicated. It sucks, but it's survivable."

Milt tucked his hand underneath his side, his eyes locking onto the floor. In his silence, Russ heard just how much pain he had been hiding; he had been silent for so long that he couldn't speak up anymore.

Russ leaned back in his chair. "Heal. Then I'll bug you about healing."

Milt's gaze flicked to Russ, apprehension darkening the brown irises, but relief flickering in those murky depths like shining minnows. "Ok."

Russ stood and clapped Milt on his uninjured shoulder. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Do you want chicken or chicken?"

"Chicken," Milt replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Excellent," Russ praised his decision. "I'll be right back."

Milt rolled back onto his back and watched his partner head off to fetch some food. For the first time in six years, hope glimmered in his heart. For the first time in six years, he _knew_ that someone cared about _him._

* * *

A/N: I don't know if I'm necessarily happy with that ending cause it seemed a bit abrupt to me...

Remember, reviews are like rays of sunshine on my day, and suggestions for other one-shots are always welcome.


	3. Nightmare

A/N: Based on YesteryearGirl's prompt "Milt recovering at home with Russ looking after him. While there, Milt has a nightmare and Russ wakes him up and helps him through it (like, comforting big brother Russ hugging and taking care of teary little brother Milt?)." I know it's waaaaaaay late and someone else already wrote it, but this is my own take on it.

* * *

Milt fumbled one-handed with the keys to his apartment.

"Do you want help? Cause I broke in faster than this," Russ complained.

"I've got it," Milt insisted. After another couple moments, the door finally swung open.

"About damn time," Russ grumbled under his breath. Milt tossed a half-hearted glare over his shoulder and stepped inside.

"You really don't have to stay-" Milt tried again.

"Yes, I do," Russ cut him off, even as he stepped awkwardly through the doorway. "Doc's orders."

"What, now you follow those?"

Russ dropped his overnight bag next to the couch. "You know why, Milt."

Milt looked away from his partner and shut the door with his foot, his free hand fidgeting with his sling's strap. "There's beer in the fridge if you want some," he offered.

"Maybe later."

Milt sank onto his couch, the cool black leather welcoming him home. It was a modest one-bedroom apartment, practically Spartan in decoration. Besides the couch, the living room had a small glass coffee table and a 27-inch flat screen TV on the wall opposite the front door. To the right, a short hallway led to the laundry room, bathroom, and bedroom. To the left was the kitchen, where an island doubled as a dining room table; it was at one of the four stools beside the island that Russ sat down.

"You know, this isn't really what I imagined," Russ observed after a brief silence.

"Well, a single man doesn't need anything fancy," Milt pointed out.

"Outside of the office, you mean?"

Milt chuckled. "Hey, I'd work with you guys if I could. Although we'd keep my coffee machine."

"Definitely," Russ agreed. "Are you hungry? I've got a Domino's gift card."

"Sure. Feel like a movie?"

Russ contemplated it for a moment, then shrugged. "Why not?"

Russ called and ordered a large pepperoni for himself and a large veggie for Milt. Milt fetched _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ from its shelf. After hanging up and recording Milt struggle to open it, Russ took pity on him and relieved him of the responsibility. They returned to their seats to watch it, not moving until the delivery guy arrived. Russ set Milt's pizza on the coffee table, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about the "monstrosity" of veggie pizza. Milt pointedly took massive bites and chewed loudly until Russ started throwing pepperoni at him. They finished their meals and focused on the movie. Eventually, Milt, now stretched out across the couch, drifted into sleep.

 _Milt swallowed down a few mouthfuls of soda. "One dealer off the streets."_

 _"Too bad about the kid," Marina commented. "But it was a good call, bringing Jason in."_

 _Milt smirked. "And yet you doubted me."_

 _Her grin chased away the guilt of killing the seventeen-year-old. She reached across the table for his hand. "That'll teach-"_

 _Tires squealed, cutting her off. The restaurant's occupants all turned to the windows in time to see a car ram into a middle-aged man crossing the parking lot._

 _"Dad!" Jason screamed, starting to run to him._

 _He barely took a step before a bang froze him in his tracks. His entire body jolted once, twice, and, in slow motion, he met the ground._

 _"Jason!" the man yelled as the car drove away. Marina ran outside, her phone in her hand._

 _Milt could only sit, frozen in horror, staring at the man clutching the boy as if his touch could save him from the gaping holes in his torso._

 _Suddenly, Milt was back at the cornfield, the gun pointed at him again. Marina, Russ, Holly, Font, Funk, Niblet, Guziewics, his mother, his sister – they stood behind him._

 _"Murderer," they all accused as one._

 _"No," Milt protested weakly. He shook, invisible chains rooting him to the spot._

 _Russ stepped forward. Hope smoldered in Milt's heart as Russ reached for the gun; surely, Russ would take it, would protect him._

 _"You want a headshot," Russ advised coldly. "Execution style."_

 _Terror thrilled through him. "Russ-"_

 _The world vanished in a bang and a flash of red._

Russ swallowed down the last drops of beer. The mid-credits scene had ended, letting the boring black-and-white credits roll. He turned the volume down but was content to wait for the end-credits scene instead of fast-forwarding. He glanced back at Milt, wondering whether to wake him or spend the night in another, more awkward spot. Milt decided for him.

"No," the younger man whimpered.

"Milt?"

Russ flicked the lights on. Shock rolled through him when he noticed how pale Milt had grown. He trembled and twitched, sweat beading on his forehead. Russ instantly recognized the symptoms of a nightmare.

"Russ-"

The voice was tiny, terrified, broken. Even in the field, it had been stronger.

"Milt!" Russ called, darting over to shake him awake.

With a gasp, he did. He pressed back into the couch, his eyes wide, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Russ gripped him by his upper arms. "Milt. Milt! It's ok, you're safe."

Milt shook his head violently. "Not ok," he rasped. His eyes focus on something inside, something Russ couldn't see. "Not ok."

Russ released his arm to cup the side of Milt's face. "What's not ok?" he asked, struggling to keep calm for Milt's sake.

"E-everyone knows," Milt stammered. "They – you – everyone called me a murderer. Y-you helped the father sh-shoot me-"

For a moment, Russ froze. _Milt thinks I would shoot him?_

 _You haven't done much to prove him wrong,_ a nasty voice in his head retorted.

Russ shook his head, as much for himself as for Milt. "Milt, listen to me. _Listen to me._ Are you listening?"

Slowly, Milt's breathing steadied and his eyes focused. Shakily, he nodded.

"I would _never_ shoot you. You are _not_ a murderer. Ok?"

Milt searched his face, looking for the deception. "I-I'm not?"

"I've put those behind bars, Milt, and you're definitely not one of them," Russ promised.

Milt stared at him. Then he lunged forward, throwing his arm around Russ, clutching him with all his strength. Russ didn't react to the unexpected move until Milt, his face buried in the curve between Russ's neck and shoulder, started to cry. Russ's arms automatically moved, one to circle his back and hold him, the other to hold the back of his head.

"Shh," he soothed. "Shh. It's in the past, no one's gonna hurt you."

Russ thought he felt a nod, but the sobs and the nightmare's aftereffects still made him shake too much. Russ shifted carefully until they were both in semi-comfortable positions on the couch, still holding each other. Milt didn't cry for more than a couple minutes, but neither one moved.

"We're like Steve and Bucky," Milt mumbled.

Russ snorted. "I think you need to sleep, Bucky."

"I wanna be Captain America," Milt protested.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Russ retorted. He shifted his grip on Milt, the comparison further stirring brotherly feelings Russ hadn't felt in years. Milt curled up and was sound asleep within moments. With a faint sigh, Russ wriggled a bit and followed his partner's lead.

-BC-

Kim let herself into Milt's apartment with the universal key the manager had given her a while back as a gift for saving his life. She had tried calling both Russ and Milt several times to check up on Milt, but neither had answered. She knew there was something the men were hiding; Milt tried to act normally, but his cheer just seemed like a mask now, and Russ was always quick to take up the conversation or get rid of visitors if it started to slip. And, unbeknownst to him, she had seen Russ go through Milt's desk, and his reaction to his findings hadn't been that of someone following a simple request. So, naturally, she worried.

She slipped inside, automatically scanning the room. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. After taking it in, she grinned, a warmth washing over her as if she had caught two eternally-fighting brothers finally getting along.

She turned to sneak out, but a floorboard creaked beneath her foot.

Instantly, Russ's cop instincts kicked in. "Who's there?" he hissed, one arm tightening its grip on Milt and the other reaching instinctively for a gun.

She winced, silently berating herself for interrupting their slumber (though Russ's reaction time allowed for some debate as to whether he was actually sleeping). "Relax, Russ," she said, easing the door shut behind her.

Russ sighed. "Dammit, Kim, don't do that."

"What, check up on my detective and FBI agent because they're not answering their phones?" she retorted in a whisper, noticing Milt hadn't woken up.

Russ blinked. "FBI…?" Realization of where he was dawned on this face. He mumbled a string of expletives under his breath and shoved at the sleeping Milt (though it had no more force than a tap). "Milt, get off."

Milt only made a noise of protest and snuggled deeper into Russ and the couch. He mumbled something that sounded like "My couch."

"Leave him be," Kim ordered, noticing dark circles underneath Milt's eyes. "It's like shoving a puppy."

Russ's irritated grumbling had no real irritation behind it as he shifted to accommodate his sleeping – what, friend? That didn't seem like the right term to Kim. The shooting seemed to have plunged them from dysfunctional partners to something like brothers. Russ, once reluctant to be in the same room as Milt, was now reluctant to leave him.

"Not that it's not sweet, but why are you two asleep on the couch together?"

"Uh, we were watching a movie," Russ explained, gesturing vaguely at the TV.

"Mhm," Kim said, seeing straight through the feeble excuse but deciding not to press. She began cleaning up the remnants of last night's meal of pizza and beer. "Milt wasn't drinking, was he?"

"No. He can't mix alcohol with his pain meds, remember?"

"Just checking."

Kim covertly checked on them as she cleaned. When Russ thought she wasn't looking, his expression softened into one of concern. He rested a protective hand on Milt's shoulder if the sleeping man so much as twitched. Taking the time to examine his body language, Milt looked like he was huddling in the shelter of Russ's body rather than sleeping peacefully.

"How's he doing?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Better," Russ replied vaguely.

"You know, you two are terrible liars," Jim commented as she shoved the emptied boxes into the trash.

"We're not-" Russ began defensively.

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'm not going to press. At least, not yet. Whatever he told you, whatever happened last night – it's your business. What _is_ my business, however, is why he handed that gun over. It looks like you're helping him handle it, so I'll let you two do this alone for now, but if it affects work again, I _will_ pry, both for your sakes and Battle Creek's. Understood?"

Russ nodded. "Yes ma'am."

Kim's voice dropped its commanding tone. "And it's nice to see you two being friends."

"Hmph," Russ muttered.

"You want the remote before I go?"

"Sure."

Kim held it just out of reach. "Don't shove the puppy just because someone walks in, ok?"

Russ rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Milt mumbled what sounded like "Not a puppy." Kim and Russ watched him for a couple moments, but he did nothing else to suggest he was awake and listening.

"Behave," she ordered. As she left, she almost added "And take care of him." Glancing over her shoulder at Russ carefully pushing a pillow under Milt's head to support his neck, she decided he didn't need to be told that. Milt would be perfectly fine in Russ's care.

As long as they had each other, they would both be fine.


End file.
